


Breaking Autumn

by JunoKun



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autumn, Canada, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Family, Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunoKun/pseuds/JunoKun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Thanksgiving at Stark family house meant warm roasted chickens, good banters and familiar scent of old blankets--something Brandon Stark enjoyed but nothing out of ordinary in his book.</p><p>That was, until he realized that his family was growing, and a particular green eyed boy smiled at him in a candy store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Green Eyed Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting a fic here sooo..  
> So nervous yet excited!
> 
> I'm open for any building critiques :)
> 
> Please enjoy!

Brandon Stark’s second favorite time in the year was Thanksgiving—coming close after Christmas of course. A Thanksgiving at his family’s house in Canada meant warm roasted chickens, good banters and familiar scent of old blankets. It reminded him of the old times, when all of them still lived together. Rickon and Arya’s shouts will be heard in the morning fighting over sweet breads, an enticing smell of hot black coffee emitting from Jon’s steamy mug, a chatter about the day’s headline news between his father and Robb, and the sound of chicken stripes being fried on the pan by Sansa and his Mum—all of it made him smile when he packed his clothes to a travel bag and grabbed his ticket to fly from California to Toronto.

But then when he landed at the airport, ready to greet his family with a hug, his smile dropped a little when he realized there weren’t eight persons waiting for him—there were _nine_.

“Glad to see you again, Bran,” greeted Talisa with a smile when he had done hugging all of his family, “I’m happy you landed safely.”

The woman stood in front of him with a handful of distance, hands clasped together on her blue skirt and smiled this wide smile that made her lips stretch from ear to ear.

Bran replied the smile, remembering the manner lessons his mother had taught him.

“Glad to see you too,” he said.

Talisa was pretty. Her long dark hair was tied up high with a pale ribbon, and her tan skin was glowing healthily. But there was something—something bothering him from the first time Bran landed his sight on this woman. It was her eyes. They tried to gleam, but Bran could see the underlying worry underneath.  And Bran was very sure, the worry wasn’t directed to his flight. It was about his _acceptance_.

“Shocked to see her?” Arya asked from his side when they were walking towards the parking lot together.

Bran eyed his sister. “As shocked when I see you,” he teased, elbowing the girl lightly. While yes he wasn’t expecting Talisa to greet him at the airport, Arya’s new appearance was something to be noticed too. “Since when do you use piercings anyway?”

The girl huffed, fingers tracing the black ring on her right ear. “Last summer,” she said,  “Mother was— _is_ —furious.”

Bran could only imagine.

They reached the parking lot, stopping next to an old minivan and a Cadillac. The Cadillac was Robb’s, and Bran could see he kept a good maintenance for all this time. Robb helped Bran loaded his luggage into their father’s minivan before opening the door of his own car and get in with Talisa.

“Where are they heading to?” Bran found himself asking when he was buckled up in the back seat of the minivan, knees bumping with Rickon’s and Jon’s.

Jon answered, “Visiting Talisa’s aunt,” he mused, “they said she’s in town.”

The minivan began to move. “And he’ll be back for dinner?”

 _He_. Bran noticed _he_ used he instead of _they_. It just slipped out of his mouth.

Jon seemed to notice too. But he didn’t call him out for it. Instead, he shrugged, “Maybe not. It’s already five pm anyway.”

Bran couldn’t help but feel a little sad by this fact. He had waited to have a dinner with all of his family again, in a big wooden table at home with their mother’s special cooking, catching up missed times. _But well_ , Bran thought with a sigh, _maybe tomorrow will do_.

He then eyed his brother Jon, who was currently looking at the passing neighborhood through the window glass. Jon was getting his curls back, Bran noticed. Last year his brother shaved his head and beards, leaving only a well trimmed short hair on top of his head. He had said it was obligatory for the army. It was also last year that Bran walked him into the army camp, bidding his goodbye as he wouldn’t see his brother for a while.

“You need to shave your head again,” Bran said.

Jon, startled from the sudden talk, turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Really?” he reached one hand to run it on his hair. “I guess so. No need to get a punishment for it right?”

Bran chuckled. Imagining his sturdy brother get punished for a simple thing like hair was quite funny for him.

“So how’s the army?” he asked when his chuckles stopped.

Bran always liked hearing Jon’s stories about the army. He liked picturing young men and women running in the field with their uniforms, training with the yells of their commander. He imagined sleeping in a barrack with his friends, jackets and boots ready to grab at the end of the bed. He thoughts what it’d feel to have a breakfast with a bunch of comrades, what it’d feel to proudly wear their camo shirts and to hold a gun.

When Jon finished his story about the days he spent at the camp, he turned to Bran and smiled a half smile. “So, when will you finally join us?”

Bran’s eyes widened.

“What?” he asked.

But Jon just laughed good naturedly. “Oh come on, lil brother,” he said, then a little bit quietly as if he didn’t want the others to hear, “I know—hell, _you_ know you want it.”

Suddenly Bran was not so comfortable in his seat. He looked at Jon’s intense eyes, scrutinizing him, daring him to say no. But his throat felt clogged up, and he hurriedly averted his eyes to the front.

But then his gaze met his mother’s, staring at him through the rear glass, holding him captive.

Bran blinked. As something churned in his stomach, he turned his head to Rickon instead.

“Mother won’t like it,” he whispered, but it wasn’t for his little brother.

A sigh was heard from his other side. “She won’t,” Jon whispered back.

*

 

Talisa was here again. She helped their mother cook in the kitchen, sometimes talking about delicious and rare ingredients from where she came from.  His mother just smiled occasionally, while continuing to cut some carrots and boil some eggs. Even though she didn’t say anything, from her tight smile Bran very much knew that his mother wished Sansa was there instead, like always.

Which led him to think, where was Sansa anyway?

“She was brooding in her room,” Rickon said on a sofa after dinner had ended, his eyes idly watching Arya playing some video games. “And still is.”

When dinner had finished, Jon took their father and mother to Ottawa to visit an old friend. They said they hadn’t met each other for a while. And not so long after their father’s minivan took off, Robb and Talisa said they were also going to go out. So it was just Bran, Rickon, Arya, and Sansa, with an additional note that the latter hadn’t shown her face after dinner.

Arya added without looking, “She’s just PMSing. Like usual.” She strikes a virtual zombie on the head. “And at midnight she’ll come down for chocolates. I know her secret.”

That, perked up Rickon’s ears. “Oh! I want chocolate! I want candy!”

Bran glanced up to his brother. “Go buy some. I think Mother won’t mind if you don’t eat too much.”

The eyes of Rickon Stark sparked. “Do you want to take me to a candy shop?”

“No, I want to finish these books today. I don’t really want to be bothered by them any longer. Go ask someone else.”

Rickon frowned and turned his head to his sister in the middle of the room. “Arya?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy,” she replied, eyes glued to the screen as her character ducked behind a barrel.

“Mother doesn’t let me go to the city alone.”

Bran sighed. “Arya? Please. Those zombies can wait.”

“No, they can’t. They’ll miss me. I’m so irresistible.”

“Really—”

“Yes, _really_ , Brandon. Go take him to a candy shop and be done with it, so you can have a date with your books again. You said you want to join the army. Get your ass off the floor and move those muscles a little.”

Bran rolled his eyes but stood up, in the end, ignoring the burn that suddenly ate him inside at the mention of the army. “Get your money because I’m not going to buy those candies for you.”

The boy beamed and smiled widely, showing his teeth before dashing off to his room to get his money.

The trip to the candy shop wasn’t all that long. Rickon had told his brother where the nearest shop was located, and fortunately the shop had enough variants of sweets to the boy’s liking. The shop wasn’t all that big, but wasn’t small either. It had huge windows on the front wall which let the pedestrians to take a look into the shop, where racks and mountains of candies and chocolates and the sort piled neatly and invitingly.

When Bran opened the glass door on the red brick building, a small bell chimed, announced their arrival to the shop. Rickon’s eyes gleamed by the tons of sugary goods in the room, he quickly grabbed a plastic bag near the door and made his way to the racks of sweets.

“Don’t buy too much,” Bran called once Rickon stopped in front of an aisle; his fingers rummaged a bowl of paper-wrapped chocolates. “I don’t want to face Mother’s wrath.”

Rickon just nodded his head absentmindedly, too busy with the sweets in front of him.

Bran rolled his eyes and made his own way further into the shop. He stared at the chocolate frogs, and then had a tester of a new butterscotch candy that the shop’s owner offered. He was just about to praise about the savory taste of the sweet when he heard his brother’s shriek and couples of _thuds_ among the aisles.

“Rickon?” Bran called. He walked toward the aisles, checking every small alley between the racks. “Rickon?”

Then he found his brother near the jelly beans section of the shop. He was standing there with his plastic bag clutched tightly, plenty of candy boxes scattered on the floor, almost hiding Rickon’s shoes by the amount of it.

“Rickon? What happened?” Bran asked, one of his eyebrows lifted questioningly.

Rickon was quite shocked himself, the color on his face seemed to be drained. “I… I—” he stuttered, seemingly lost at words.

“I’m sorry—I accidentally tripped myself and bumped onto him.” A voice snapped Bran’s attention. It was then he was just realizing that there was another person here. Bran looked up and saw a boy standing near his younger brother. _He couldn’t be any different than me in age, it looks like_ , Bran thought. “Then we knocked some of these.” The boy gestured to the boxes on the floor.

Then the boy turned to Rickon. “Okay. Let’s just clean this mess.”

So the two of them began to pick the boxes and put it to the rack again. Bran watched them doing all of it, before making himself help the two. Once they were done, he turned to his brother.

“You get all you want?” He asked.

Rickon was confused at first but then he caught up what his brother was saying. “No, not yet. I want to get some fudge.”

So he left his brother and the stranger boy alone on the jelly bean section.

Bran didn’t really pay attention to the boy next to him before, so he turned himself to face him properly.

“I’m sorry about my brother. I know how he is, even though you said that you tripped yourself, I know that somehow my brother contributed on that, too.”

The boy smiled. And oh boy, _he smiled_.

The only smile that Bran found nice was the one that plastered on his mother’s face. Well, on all of his family’s faces actually but especially his mother. But then Bran felt like the smile that quirked on the boy’s lips and the beaming on his green eyes were pleasant, and somewhat contagious—he couldn’t help but feel the corner of his lips arched upward slowly.

“No problem, really,” the boy replied, his hand ruffled his dirty blonde hair. “I’m Jojen.”

Bran was caught off guard. Did this boy really just give his name to him? Was it common for strangers in a candy shop to just pass each other’s name? Or was it how you treat strangers here in Canada? Bran was away in the states for about three years, and only coming back if there was a holiday. Maybe he wasn’t any longer familiar about how to act normal here.

“Brandon. Or Bran, for short.”

Jojen smiled again.

Not only his smile but a chat with him, turned out, was also nice.

 _So where do you live? Do you go to college? Do you like caramel fudge?_ Bran found himself enjoying the simple questions and the follow-ups with the blonde, grinning and chuckling here and there. He leaned towards a counter and fiddled his fingers with a loose ribbon that was supposedly tied on a plastic of jelly beans, his face stared toward Jojen’s amusedly as the blonde ranted on and on about his last camping adventure—which wasn’t going very smoothly—and Bran chuckled, much to Jojen’s dismay. Guess he shouldn’t have laughed at Jojen’s unfortunate encounter with a bear, but he couldn’t help it as he listened about how epic and hilarious it was. He meant, before that very moment, he’d never thought about someone who would literally draw a circle on the ground and sat in the middle of it, instead of running or faking death when they walked over the big furry mammal.

Bran decided that he liked the other boy’s voice. It was heavy with a raspy edge—like there was a hint of his weird puberty voice still lingering somewhere in the tune. His own voice was awkward—he scoffed at himself—like there were false vibes or tones here and there.

“Why aren’t you getting any sweets?” Jojen asked out of the blue after they just ended a talk about the latest video game who they both turned out like.

Brand knitted his eyebrows before realizing that he wasn’t bringing any plastic bags with him. “Oh. I’m just taking Rickon here,” he pushed himself off of the counter. “The boy didn’t want to shut up until he got his candies.”

He shrugged his shoulders. It was then Bran noticed the contents in Jojen’s plastic bags. There were lots of variant sweets, but all of them were packed in boxes. The medium size, the family pack, the extra 50 grams one.

“Are you going to pull a party or something?” Bran asked.

“Huh?” Jojen’s eyebrows were furrowed. But then he saw Bran’s eyes were directed to his bag on his hand. “Oh, these. No, heh, I have a date this evening and she said that she likes sweets, but I don’t know which ones so I kinda… grab all the stuff.”

Bran’s blue eyes snapped back up to Jojen’s face, finding a sheepish grin had already plastered here.

A date.

Somehow Bran wasn’t really expecting the words to be spilled out of the other boy’s mouth. It was just strange, _uncalled for_. But everyone dated all the time, even his roommates back in Berkeley occasionally brought their girlfriends and flings all the time—Bran had even stopped trying to remember all of their names, because the next three weeks they would be all gone and new girls came to the dorm. He wasn’t experienced at that field himself, yes, but the boy in front of him didn’t look like the type to date around.

Bran rolled his eyes at himself. Who was he? He just met the guy twenty minutes ago and he already decided what type of person he was. Even more, maybe his date was not like the ones that his roommates had. Maybe it was a serious one.

Bran snapped off of his thoughts when he heard an awkward cough. He looked up and found that Jojen was eyeing him with an eyebrow raised.

Damn him and his own thoughts. It was a little bit awkward now and Bran wasn’t sure how to break it. Should he say something? Yes, he should.

“I’m done,” Rickon’s voice startled him, making Bran somewhat relieved by the fact that he didn’t have to break the sudden silence himself. “Let’s go home.”

Bran turned to his brother. The younger boy stood at the end of the alley, a mid-sized paper bag full of candies was clutched tightly on his hand.

“…Okay, let’s go home,” Bran said at last, finding his own voice and words again. Rickon beamed and trotted to the front door, the bells chimed quietly as the boy pushed the cool glass surface.

Bran followed, but after just a few steps, he stopped and turned his body. His eyes found the green ones, who were still gleaming a little from the smile the owner pulled at the moment.

“Bye,” Bran said quietly, managing a small smile. “Good luck with the date.”

Bran could see that Jojen was a little bit shocked by his words, noting a faint flinch on his shoulders and the dilatation on his eyes. But he smiled, nonetheless, quickly hiding his previous subconscious act.

“Thank you, Bran.”

Bran nodded and turned his body again to follow his brother outside. The chilly winds of early autumn automatically hit his cheeks as he stepped out of the candy shop’s glass door.

Bran didn’t know why, but he wished he could take back his last words which were just spilled no more than two minutes ago.


	2. Two Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm so sorry.

Talisa, for once, was here. _Again_.

 

It was Brandon Stark’s third day at home, and almost everyone seemed to have some sorts of activities outside. His parents went to some old friends’ houses, spreading invitation for their coming Thanksgiving party. Rickon tagged along to Jon to get some groceries, while Arya sneaked out saying that she was getting a new video game, explicitly asking Bran not to tell Mother about it.

 

It left Robb, Sansa, and Bran at the house. Well maybe he could count Sansa out since she was locking herself in her bedroom since breakfast anyway. But Bran was comfortably enjoying some reruns with his brother in the living room, when suddenly the bell rang and Talisa came through the door with two cartons of Chinese food in hand.

 

“Oh,” Talisa said with wide eyes when she saw Bran sitting next to her fiancé, “didn’t know that you’re home, Bran. I should’ve bought you something too.”

 

Bran unconsciously frowned. It was his home, right? Not hers. She shouldn’t use the word _home_ , because she wasn’t living there. And should he be sorry for being in his own home? No.

 

Her words and reaction didn’t sit well with Bran.

 

“It’s okay, Talisa,” Bran mused, forcing a small smile to show some manners. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

 

And so he watched her and Robb feeding each other with shrimp and roasted duck after he declined politely to Talisa’s offer for sharing the food. He wasn’t really fond of Chinese meal anyway, he just wanted to continue watching Teen Wolf with his brother. It was getting into his favorite part. He just wanted to quote the dialogues together with Robb—like always—but it seemed like his brother chose something else to do.

 

“You sure you don’t want this?” Robb asked, pausing a moment from stealing rice from Talisa’s carton to offer a piece of roasted duck to Bran.

 

Bran eyed the meat on the chopsticks wearily. “Yeah I’m sure.”

 

He tried to focus on the television, he really did. But for some reason the scenes didn’t make sense to him. He didn’t know why Scott McCall sniffed his entire team during practices. Robb and Talisa didn’t make any outrageous noises as they ate next to him, doing couple stuff and all, so that wasn’t the case right? But still, he couldn’t quite put his mind fully on the screen in front of him, making Scott and Stiles’ dialogues on TV went to thin air and sending him to frustration.

 

Bran was very close to shut the television down when suddenly a train of noisy footsteps hollered from the stairs. Three people in the living room turned their heads and surprised to see Sansa standing by the end of the staircase.

 

It was very uncharacteristic of her to be noisy and her face flushed a clear pink, obviously embarrassed of her previous act.

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to regain herself. She shifted her feet and fixed her flaring skirt. “I’m going to go to the city.”

 

Robb quirked his eyebrow at his sister, making the younger girl somehow looked more uncomfortable. “It’s almost five thirty and everyone will be home for dinner soon.”

 

Sansa looked at the rug beneath her feet as if suddenly they grew fascinating. “I’ll skip dinner.”

 

Robb opened his mouth to say something, but paused and closed it again. He eyed his sister for the last time before returning to his carton and dug some rice. “Talk to Mother then.”

 

 _As if Robb himself wasn’t skipping dinner_ , Bran thought with a roll of his eyes. Because eating Chinese food didn’t count as having a meal? Because Robb would still join said dinner after he finished his ducks and shrimp with Talisa? Bran highly doubt it.

 

He eyed his sister from the couch. She was really unusual this afternoon, he noted. The usual chin-up-chest-out behavior she showed to every living thing in the world was now somehow hiding behind those pastel clothes and LV sling bag.

 

He also noticed that Sansa grew more uncomfortable as the staring and silence grew longer than necessary. Really, most of the time Sansa always knew how to act and carry herself in front of people, her etiquette and poise were never off. But right now, the red haired woman just looked like a little child lining to get a shot—she wanted to get out of here, _fast_.

 

Bran couldn’t help but felt like, somehow, he could relate to his eldest sister at that exact time.

 

“I’ll go with you,” Bran blurted out of nowhere.

 

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him automatically—Robb’s, which implied ‘ _Seriously, Bran?_ ’, then Talisa’s which had some confusion drawn all over, and finally Sansa’s, which silently asked him if he had eaten something wrong this morning. Not that it was wrong of him by wanting to go out with his sister; but it was just, you never really put Sansa and Bran in the same picture together if it wasn’t framed by family business. But then his options were having an awkward trip with his sister or staying at home with a couple who did cutesy things. The choice he made was pretty clear.

 

Sansa studied him over, and Bran almost began questioning whether he should take his words back or not—but then something clicked in Sansa’s eyes as she eyed Bran, then Talisa, then Robb, then Bran again, and she seemed to understand him.

 

“Sure,” Sansa replied, quite longer than it should be, hunching her shoulders, “I’ll wait for you at the porch. Go get yourself ready.”

 

*

 

The trip to the city was definitely awkward; Bran didn’t even have the will to deny it. They got two tickets for the train in silence, getting in to the transportation in silence, and sitting side by side in silence. It wasn’t the first time he went to somewhere with Sansa, Bran thought, but it was the first time they went to somewhere just by the two of them.

 

Sansa had offered him to take the window seat, and he happily accepted. He was thinking that once he occupied himself by leaning on the window glass and let his eyes catch the line of buildings outside, he would forget the awkwardness and enjoy himself. But it proved to be wrong though, as he was failing miserably not to take a glance to his sister every now and then, who was, at the moment, snatching out her phone and frowned at the screen.

 

“Am I intruding you?” Bran couldn’t help but asked, a little bit guilty. Somehow it felt like he was forcing his way to Sansa’s face. He did ask to tag along out of the blue, didn’t he?

 

Sansa’s head snapped to him immediately, her eyes wide and her eyebrows were raised in a confused manner. She looked like she was caught off-guard, before quickly corrected her demeanor.

 

“Oh, no. Not at all,” she smiled, but Bran noted that the smile didn’t reach her eyes, “It’s alright, really. It’s not like I have an appointment with a friend or something.”

 

Just now, he felt a rather bit bad, knowing that maybe he had just ruined his sister’s alone time. She looked like she needed it.

               

“You know, we can separate our ways later,” he said quietly, his hands brushing his dark brown hair off his face, “if you want.”

 

There was no reply right away. But he guessed, he didn’t really expect any. Bran threw his face to the scenery outside the window. The sound of soft rattle and people’s chatters buzzed in his ears as he gazed absentmindedly to the passing trees and buildings, sending his mind to a slight wonder about his eldest sister. Bran understood he wasn’t that close to her, but he also deep down knew that something off was going on inside her head right now. Now that he thought about it, since the first day of holiday, she hadn’t even once begged their father to let her go to her friends’ party nights. That alone was a solid indicator.

 

Bran glanced at Sansa behind his eyelashes but he only found a young woman sitting uncomfortably here, fiddling with her phone every two seconds. He sighed and slipped a straw of hair behind his ear, giving up for any answer coming from his sister’s mouth and tried to reoccupy himself with the scenery.

 

“Are you hungry?” his sister asked all of a sudden, and it snapped Bran out of his mind.

               

“What do you mean?” he eyed Sansa cautiously, not really getting the idea where was the sudden question coming from.

               

“We’re skipping dinner, and yes I want to do it but my stomach says otherwise,” Sansa turned to him and shrugged her shoulders. Her voice was firmer than minutes ago and she managed a smile. “Are you hungry? We can… stop at a bistro or something.”

 

 _At least we have somewhere to go, right?_ Bran thought. He flashed a smile of his own. “Yeah sure. I want Mexican.”

 

And just like that, the ice layers between them slowly but surely melted as the train sped off to the city.

 

When they stepped off of the train, they strode immediately to the nearest Mexican restaurant they could find. Bran distinctly remembered it was the same one that he, his father and Rickon crashed into all those years ago, trying to hide from the sudden rain that fell into the city. Right now the small and warm resto was a bit packed when Sansa and him got in, but they still could get a table for two. Not by the window or by the wall so they could rest their back a bit more comfortably, but hey they were here for the food.

 

“What makes you crave for Mexican food this time?” Sansa asked as they waited for their enchiladas and beef tamales. She smiled amusedly and raised her eyebrow. “Having your time of the month?”

 

Bran was shocked.

 

His sister Sansa just threw a joke at him! He heard it right, _right?_

 

He could see how Sansa herself was disbelieving the words which were just coming from her mouth. Sansa barely threw jokes at anyone; if she did, it was when their family threw a party on their garden with all of their siblings and neighbors, or it was when she talked on the phone with her friends. But he chuckled after getting rid of his shock and decided to play along. “Wow now, sorry for crushing your hope to get my man-babies.”

 

Sansa’s blue eyes widened as she wasn’t expecting her brother’s comeback, but ended up leaning to Bran slightly and grinning. “Wasn’t aware that you know the procedure about babies before, lil brother,” she teased, “but probably you were just listening things coming from Old Nan’s tale.”

 

Bran still liked to hear the wet nurse’s stories even when he reached fifteen, and that was embarrassing.

 

“I wasn’t,” he defended.

 

“Oh really? You figured things out on your own then?”

 

“Really, Sansa? Are we really having this conversation right now?”

 

Sansa smirked. “Yes, I think it’s about time that my baby brother has ‘the talk’.”

 

“I’m nineteen!”

 

“Are you?” The look on her face was so amused Bran found it both exhilarating and terrifying.

_Where does my usual older sister go?_

 

Sansa was about to open her mouth and tease him again but their waitress came, cutting their conversation right away. Bran thanked the waitress and moved his chair a little so he could eat his enchiladas easily, throwing a small amused smile to his sister across the table.

 

That night turned out surprisingly nice. They talked and talked and talked about everything that passed on their minds, enjoying the warm restaurant and the spicy smells that lingered the air. Even when their food was already over, they kept sitting on their table and chatted. Bran didn’t know until now that talking with Sansa could be this pleasant. Any other time she would become a big nagging girl who complained about all of things if she was around their family and Bran would just sit here and tuned her out. But this woman in front on him smiled and giggled here and there, throwing witty comments at what he said. Bran decided he liked this side of his sister, it made him all warm and fuzzy and comfortable.

 

Very much later they decided to go somewhere else, taking a walk along the city streets before catching a train to go home. Bran told Sansa to wait a little, as he wanted to go to the bathroom first. But maybe he was a little bit too happy, smiling to himself, as he didn’t quite pay any mind to his steps because the next thing he knew, his shoulder bumped into something that nearly send him face first to the floor.

 

“Oops!” a voice gasped in his ear, making him to turn his head over once he managed to steady his feet.

 

A waiter was picking up his tray and a bill book that fell scattered on the floor, quickly tidying everything up before dusting himself.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bran said helping him stand, “I should’ve watched where I was going.”

 

But the waiter shrugged him off with a smile. “It’s okay,” he replied, “it’s great that I don’t bring plates and... oh! Do I know you?”

 

What?

 

“You’re familiar but I can’t recall…”

 

If the waiter forgot about their past encounter, then most likely Bran did too. Because really, he wasn’t that good with strangers’ faces. He needed exactly two months to remember the face of Sansa’s violin teacher. And because of that, the number of him miss calling the old man to another people was embarrassing. Arya had laughed at him for mistakenly greeting their sink repairman for the musician, annoyingly teasing him to no end during dinner and TV time. So the chance of him remembering this waiter if they _did_ meet before, was certainly slim.

 

But, when he looked up close, the waiter’s moss green eyes stared at him in a way that demanded attention. They were so deep, so warm, trapping Bran in a sense of familiarity and… _amenity_.

 

“Oh! You’re that guy on the candy shop. It’s Ian right? Or Dan? Or—”

 

Oh. _Oh!_ Bran remembered him. That was the guy who bought all the extra-sized pack candy.

 

“It’s Bran,” Bran cut in. “And you’re….. uh, sorry…?” There was a name at the tip of his tongue, rolling down from his dull memory trying to break through. _It’s… uh Jeremy?_

 

“The name’s Jojen,” the boy grinned, “looks like we both have trouble with names, eh?”

 

The waiter laughed a little, his eyes twinkled. Boy, Bran forgot just until now that the boy’s laughter and smile was pleasant. He could feel the corner of his own lips twitched.

 

And he looked surprisingly pleasant with white uniform shirt and black bow tie, a similarly black little apron hung tightly around the waist of his jeans. It was quite a different sight from the boy he met at the candy store—baggy sweater and all. But Bran decided Jojen looked good either way, even more so when his face lit up with a smile, like _exactly_ what it did right now.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Really? “Hunting some wild elephants with big trunks. They keep ruining our garden.” Bran rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hold the smile that tugged at his lips.

 

“Wait what?” Jojen burst out laughing, the tray shook lightly in his arms. “Oh Lord. Sorry, that was a dumb question, my bad.”

 

Bran chuckled a little. It was funny, how he got the chance to meet the same stranger un such a short period of time. He knew a handful of people here in Toronto—thanks to his childhood times—but the city itself wasn’t that small  that you would know _everyone_ , so to say Bran was amazed was an understatement.

 

“I was having dinner with my sister,” Bran answered with a smile.

 

“Your sister?”

 

“Yeah… She was right there,” he pointed with his eyes towards Sansa who was sipping the last of her tea, “we were reminiscing old times.”

 

This guy—Jojen—seemed genuinely interested. “Old times? So you live here since you were a kid?”

 

“Uh huh.” Bran decided he liked him. He was nice to talk to. “I go to California to study and she was just coming back from Wales.”

 

“Wow. Really?” Those green eyes twinkled again. “That’s cool! I’ve never been—”

 

“ _Waiter!_ ”

 

Uh. Oh.

 

“ _Excuse me? Mr. Waiter?_ ”

 

It was then that Bran realized the situation he was in—standing in a Mexican restaurant, amongst a handful of other customers, chatting with a waiter as if they were in the park doing their morning jogs.

 

“I’m sorry, I gotta go,” Jojen said quickly, and Bran thought he didn’t miss the slight disappointment on his face, “see you later, eh?”

 

Jojen was almost turning his body, steadying his tray and bill book on his hands, ready to go to an old man who was calling him from table nine. It was just a few feet away, so why did it feel like miles?

 

Bran didn’t want their conversation to end.

 

“We have a party tomorrow, wanna come?” he breathed out quickly, almost mumbling that he couldn’t even hear it right.

 

So when Jojen turned out could hear it right, he was shocked. Not to mention his heartbeat grew manic and his cheeks turned hot.

 

“What?” he asked, all bright and sunny with his blonde hair and _oh-so-crystal_ green eyes. “Sure,” a chuckle, and Bran felt so mushy, “we’ll share phone number after this, okay?”

 

And they did, after Bran use the restaurant’s urinal and  Jojen served that old man on table number nine.

 

That night, Bran couldn’t care less that Robb threw him and Sansa a questioning look when both of them ascended the stairs together. He didn’t let the annoying knocks and screams from Rickon’s room bother his shower time. And more importantly, he didn’t ask for his share when Arya came with a bag of pretzels.

 

It was okay. _It was surely alright_. Because he had been texting with that stranger who possessed _bright and royally green_ eyes since he stepped into the house. A little smile constantly hanging on his lips, and he had to be careful not to show it to his siblings because they would question him what was going on.

 

_You got troubles because chatting with me? –Bran_

_Nah. Got an earful from Pauline but it was alright. –J_

 

Bran was lying on his stomach on his bed, with the lights turned off and the door closed so that everybody would think he was already asleep.

 

_Pauline? Oh and I’m sorry… –Bran_

_Our cashier. It’s totally fine. I like talking with you :) –J_

 

Did he forget to turn on the AC? His room suddenly felt so hot.

 

_Anyway, what’s your address? Can’t wait to meet you at the party –J_

 

If earlier he was hot, now he was burning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to portray Toronto correctly. But if there's something I miss, please let me know :)


	3. Three Dances

“Mother’s looking for you,” Jon poked his head through the kitchen’s door. “She’s at the backyard.”

Of course she was at the backyard. Hell, everyone should be at the backyard at this moment. So why was Bran stalling inside the kitchen all by himself?

“What are you doing here anyway?” Look, Jon himself thought the same.

Bran picked a slice of potato from a bowl on the counter and sighed to himself. “I’ll go to her then.”

The Thanksgiving party had started about an hour ago. His relatives and neighbors had come, flooding their backyard with smiles and warm chatters. Robb had restocked their seasoned turkey at least two times now, along with a bunch of vegetables, and he almost never left the grill. It was pretty much the same as their former parties. Same faces, same names, same stories.

Bran expected something—no, someone—different but this _someone_ hadn’t even showed up his nose yet.

_I’ll be waiting for you then—Bran_

_Aww, aren’t you cute—J_

Their last conversation was eight hours ago, practically in the morning, and it made him antsy.

Should he call him? Or at least send a text? Maybe he should right? _Who knows if he’s lost…_ Bran mulled the thoughts while munching his potato, contemplating. But then he shook his head. No, Jojen would tell him if he was lost. And there was no written rule to come to the party at five on the dot, anyway. So asking him where he was was maybe a little desperate…

Bran sighed and stepped outside to the backyard.

His mother was standing near the refreshment table, holding a glass of orange squash with her hand. She was talking to three people; a couple that Bran recognized as Mr. and Mrs. Winston—his mother’s old friends—and… a girl with golden hair he had never seen before. He contemplated if he should go to his mother right now, or wait until their conversation ended.

His mother made the decision, though, as she saw him standing and called him to come over.

“Bran!” she smiled, “please greet William and Lauren.”

So he shook the couple’s hands and smiled politely at them. “Good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Winston.”

Lauren Winston laughed good-naturedly, making the wrinkles on her eyes popped out. “Ah, good to see you too,” she said. “Aren’t you all grown up now? I almost didn’t recognize you! My my, you’ve grown to a handsome young man.”

Bran just smiled at that. Maybe if she didn’t say the exact same thing every time they meet at family gatherings, he would be a little bit swooned by now.

“Bran this is Marie Ann.” His mother gestured to the blonde girl who was just standing here next to her father, showing a small smile at him. “She was just coming from abroad, just like you.”

He had never seen her before. Mr. Winston always went together with his wife, but rarely his child. Bran didn’t even know they had a daughter within his age just until at that moment.

Marie Ann smiled at him, looking rather shy. She wasn’t a girl that showed off too much skin—like much of Bran’s classmates—but she wasn’t that girl who wore long floral skirts with pastel sweater either. She was… decent. Looking okay with knee-length skirt and simple blouse.

And when she said hello to him, he saw sliver dots of braces on her teeth. “I’m Marie Ann,” she introduced herself, even though that was totally useless. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He shook her hand, but didn’t say his name. His mother did call him, anyway.

“Marie Ann had just finished her studies,” Mrs. Winston chirped, making her chubby cheeks to get rosy, “she was about two years older than you, Bran, but I think you two will get along well.”

Bran was just about to respond but his mother beat him at it. “I’m sure they will,” she said quite happily. “After Bran gets his degree he’ll work with his older brother. It’ll give Robb much help, you know? Bran’s the best in the business management class…”

Wait what?

“Oh! Robb’s hotel. I heard he’s doing good,” Mr. Winston joined in, before throwing a look at Bran’s direction, “I’m sure you’ll make it even better.”

But—

His mother hand gripped his shoulder, rubbing his bones in little circles. “He will. Right, Bran?”

“Uh no…” Bran laughed with an amount of tension. Where the hell did his mother coming from? He hadn’t even said anything to Robb yet!

His eyes flickered to his mother’s widened ones rather nervously. “I’m interested on joining the army but—”

“The army!” Mrs. Winston gasped. “Why would you follow Jon’s path, my dear? The army is going to be a waste of your potential.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Winston—” he said, but he clearly wasn’t. He was ticked off but he still had to show some manners. “—but I think it’s a place where—”

“Bran, why don’t you take Marie Ann around and share a little chat together?” his mother cut in, a tight smile on her face. “Maybe you could introduce her to your friends.”

Bran didn’t even have ‘friends’ except his siblings in this party.

“Okay…”

His mother was furious. He knew it. He could sense it when he walked away. Even though she was smiling, the grip on her orange squash glass was noticeably tightened.

Bran didn’t think she had the right to be angry.

 _He_ was supposed to be the one who was mad! What was all that talks about? He hadn’t said anything about helping Robb and his goddamn hotel business. They had never discussed it. Never! His mother just jotted down the idea for him at one evening and thought that it was a final decision.

“Uh, Bran… do you want a turkey wing?”

And, he _definitely_ wasn’t in the mood to be a host for this Marie Ann girl.

“I’m not hungry, thank you.”

That was true. He was fed up with the previous conversation and he just wasn’t feeling the party at all. Arya might had danced crazily to three or four songs already to their old stereo’s music, and Rickon must likely had swooned all of their guests to get some free extra sweets he actually wasn’t allowed to have. But right now he wasn’t in the mood to join the festivities. And, he didn’t want to pretend he was interested enough with Marie Ann to hold a chat.

_Where’s Jojen?_

“Okay…” Marie Ann said in a low tone.

Oh there it was. The guilty trip of letting a girl down. Bran rolled his eyes. _Oh the pleasure_.

Bran was standing with Marie Ann at the side of the backyard, under the shade of an old apple tree that almost lost half of its orange leaves. It was already getting dark, Jon had lit the lights and candles and now the entire space was beautifully illuminated with orange and yellow gleams.

What a nice night. If only he could enjoy it even for a little bit.

Marie Ann’s eyes were casted down, almost covered with her golden fringe even though she had a small brown pin holding her strands. She wasn’t breath-takingly pretty, but she also wasn’t ill looking or something. Mrs. Winston clearly wanted him to do  _more_ than get along with her daughter, and it was obvious that his own mother agreed to the idea.

Did he have any say to this—no, to _every_ matter?

“So where are you coming from?” Bran sighed. It wasn’t Marie Ann’s fault anyway. She didn’t deserve the cold shoulder.

His question turned out startling her. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

“Your study. Abroad.”

“Oh!” she quickly fixed her demeanor, slipping a strand of hair behind her ears. “It was Japan. A lovely place. Want to go there again someday but I’m not sure I can handle all those spicy curry though…” And she managed a laugh.

Bran laughed too, but it was because he had enough manners.

He ended up accompanying the girl for a few moments. She told him about funny and weird things she found in Japan, all the while still standing under the apple tree’s shade. Bran just hummed a tone or two every now and then, asking ‘ _oh really?_ ’ and gasped ‘ _that’s cool_ ’ just to show her that he was listening.

In fact, he wasn’t.

He looked up to the dark sky and begged to the stars and moon that they would take him instead, away from everything that was happening around him.

Marie Ann seemed to sense his inattentiveness.

“So there was this big Hello Kitty and—” she paused, looking at Bran. And her shoulders dropped a little. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me, you know. I understand that… if you want some alone time.”

Okay, so there was no point in pretending, right? The girl was smart enough to see that Bran wasn’t in for any conversation.

“I’m sorry.” He actually wasn’t.

“It’s okay,” she assured with a little sad smile, “I want to get to know other people, anyway. Catching up the missed times.”

Marie Ann slipped a napkin with her number to Bran’s hand before heading to a clearing where a lot of people gathered around.

Bran used the napkin to cover his ass when he decided to sit down on the grass.

Hours into the party, and he didn’t really move anywhere else. Jon sat with him for a couple of minutes, cracking jokes of one of their uncle before he left to meet one of his friends. Rickon came up with a handful of burned potatoes, offering him a piece by saying that he cooked them himself. Bran didn’t have the heart to say no so he ate a piece, and it was actually not that bad. Jon tried to convince him to join the dance everyone was doing, but Bran just said ‘ _Nah, I’m fine here._ ’ He wasn’t even ticked with Talisa’s appearance that night, and that was saying something.

With the constant displeased glances his mother kept throwing at him, he just wanted the night to end fast.

When the night was getting later, Arya came up to him.

“I come to save you from your misery,” she said, playing with her lip ring. “Get your ass off there and let’s dance.”

Arya was a little bit flustered. Her cheeks were tinted rosy pink. It was obvious that she had drunk at least three glasses of wine and was a little bit tipsy.

“I’m fine,” Bran replied. He was fine, really. His mood was just a little bit ruined with that hotel thing and _a friend_ who stood up to him. Right. “Go away Arya you’re blocking the view.”

“I am the view!” she giggled. “Oh come on Bran you’re no fun.”

He shifted his legs. “I’m not trying to be fun.”

“And I’m making you to be one! Come on.”

Arya practically manhandled him, pulling his arms and torso so that he was standing on the ground. He protested and whined, resisting as best as he could but Arya always had her way. She knew his ticklish points and she made them to a good use.

“Stop!” Bran couldn’t help but laughed. “You’re killing me.”

“We’re here to dance, little brother,” Arya said when they reached the clearing where a lot of people moved their bodies to the music. It was The Beatles, their father’s favorite. “Move those skinny legs or else!”

 

Bran didn’t know how to dance, but at least he knew where to place his feet and arms. So he laughed again to Arya, before slowly letting loose of himself. Arya seemed extremely pleased to see that, and she began pulling Bran along to do some salsa. Not that she was great at it and not that the song was fitting, but hey it was fun and who could say no to salsa?

Soon the crowds began to double. When the stereo hit the verse, their aunts and uncles and cousins joined the dance. It was strange, but fun nonetheless. Bran had changed dance partners for three times now, the first two being his neighbors and the last one being Bethany, his great aunt.

“You’re a good dancer,” said the old woman, showing her wide wrinkly smile as she held Bran’s hands. “Never knew, before.”

Bran laughed. Because he himself never knew that, either. “Arya kind of made me to be one tonight.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Bethany chuckled good-naturedly. Then she looked over the said girl, who was, at the moment grinning and dancing with one of their neighbors. “She had grown,” the old woman mused, before turning herself and smiled to Bran again. “Just like you, my boy. And I hope you’ll be alright.”

_Alright?_

Bran didn’t know what she meant by that, but he didn’t question it. The old woman said peculiar things sometimes, and he should’ve been accustomed by that.

By the next song, Bran refused another offer to dance. He smiled politely and bid a good bye to Bethany, and nodded his head to Arya—who most likely didn’t notice anyway—before stepping out of the dance floor.

He went to the porch, sitting on the stairs with his shoulder leaned on the railings. In front of him was all the activities their family threw. Under the stars, people still danced to the stereo. Robb still conversing while grilling meat, Father and Mother still grinning and laughing under the lamp posts, and Rickon still running across the lawn with a candy in his hand. It was about eleven pm, but Rickon had some kind of leniency on his bedtime because it was a special night. It was. It was supposed to be one.

But Bran didn’t feel special. He just felt tired.

Shutting down his phone, he decided to take Rickon’s role to sleep early.


End file.
